


Come Blow Your Horn (Start Celebrating)

by coffeebuddha



Category: Glee
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Future Fic, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeebuddha/pseuds/coffeebuddha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the performance is over, Kurt is a wreck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Blow Your Horn (Start Celebrating)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sugakane_01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugakane_01/gifts).



  


After the performance is over, Kurt is a wreck. His usually carefully styled hair is damp with sweat and frizzing at the edges, despite all the gel and spray that kept it mostly shellacked into shape under the bright stage lights. There's glitter on his collarbones and the deep vee of exposed skin that dips nearly to his navel; it clumps together in patches from the beads of moisture dotting his goose pimpled chest. The normally sweet curve of his mouth is a dark slash of red that's been swollen by the way he must have been biting his lips together while in the wings to keep from belting along with some of the songs. His eyes are fever bright, unnaturally huge surrounded by spiky mascara and smudged eyeliner, and almost all pupil. 

He's  _ gorgeous_.

Puck reaches out for him, because he's right there and he can't help it, he  _ has _ to. Under his hands, Kurt shakes like he's coming apart. A small shiver grows into an almost violent trembling, so hard Puck imagines Kurt's teeth must be clacking together in his mouth. And then Kurt's got him by the arm and is pulling, yanking him past the other performers and their own visitors, either not hear or not caring about the wolf whistles, whoops, and one call of 'Yeah, go get it, son!' that follow them.

There might be a name on the dressing room door--it's even possible that the room is Kurt's--but Puck couldn't say what it is right now to save his life. Everything he has is focused on the feel of Kurt pressing close, closer, closest, closing the distance between them until it's nothing. The touch of his mouth is a shock of teeth that makes Puck groan low in his throat. It's nothing like a first kiss should be, too hard and greedy and unyielding, and it's fucking perfect. 

There's glitter smeared across the front of Puck's shirt, but that doesn't matter, because then it's off and gone, possibly ripped at the shoulder seam by Kurt's urgent fingers. For all they look like a few flimsy scraps of cloth, Kurt's clothes take a little more finagling. After a few fumbles, Kurt shoves Puck back so that he can take care of them himself, which is more than fine, since it gives Puck the opportunity to wriggle out of his suddenly too tight jeans and boxers.

Then it's just skin on skin, sweaty and slick, and Puck reels Kurt in for another kiss that tastes like cheap wax and the herbal tea he practically mainlines like it's crack.

"I just performed on Broadway," Kurt gasps out when Puck gets his hand around his cock and strokes it with a smooth twist. His head tips back, eyes closed and long neck so beautifully exposed that Puck can't help sucking a mark into the pale, unblemished skin there. "I  _ headlined_. On  _ Broadway_."

"You were fucking amazing," Puck says. Kurt is hot and hard in his hand, sweet and pliant under his mouth. He lips at Kurt's jawline and tastes the chalky talc of his stage make up, and it shouldn't make this hotter, but somehow it really does. 

"I really was." Kurt's voice sounds dreamy, almost disconnected, and he barely whimpers in protest when Puck winds an arm around his waist and hoists him up just a little bit so that he can stumble back a few steps to drop down into a chair. Kurt moves easy, going exactly where Puck wants him with just a few gentle, coaxing touches, and then he's straddling Puck's lap, arms reaching over Puck's shoulders to brace against the back of the chair, his body a fluid arch that Puck can finally reach out and touch.

"Fuck," Puck growls. He leans forward to flick his tongue over the tight nub of a nipple and Kurt keens in a high falsetto. His grip tightens and Kurt bucks up into the rough circle of his fist, his cock probably chaffing against Puck's too dry palm. He pulls away just long enough to lick a stripe across his palm, then takes Kurt back in hand. "Fucking best thing on that stage. Couldn't look away from you for a second."

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt chants, the word  repeating  rough and  broken like an old record with  a skip. 

"Yeah," Puck agrees. Sweat's puddling in the hollow of Kurt's throat, so Puck licks it away, then sucks another mark there so the spot won't feel empty. "Liza's got nothing on you, babe."

Kurt comes with a shout and a spasm that nearly dislodges him from Puck's lap before Puck clamps his spare hand on his hip to keep him in place.

"Oh god," Kurt moans as Puck works him through the last few pulses of his orgasm, hand gentle on his softening prick. "God, that is the strangest, best thing anyone's ever said to me during sex." A pause. "You  _do _ know Liza played Sally, not the Emcee, right?"

"Sure, whatever. I aim to please." His own cock is still hard, pressed up against Kurt's ass, and he can't quite stop his hips from rocking up to get some friction. "I brought you flowers," he says, gesturing toward the door. "They're...somewhere."

"How sweet," Kurt says as he slides off Puck's lap. He smiles down at Puck, probably trying for coy from the look of it. With his lipstick smeared all the way down his chin and across his neck, a scattering of bruises already darkening his chest, and his own come spread sticky over his stomach, 'coy' doesn't exactly work for him. Not that it matters so much, because then he's on the floor, kneeling between Puck's knees. His tongue darts out to wet his swollen, stained lower lip as he leans forward, and he's close enough that Puck can feel the aching tease of his lips against the head of his cock when Kurt says, "I should really thank you for that, shouldn't I?"

  



End file.
